


Thursday's Child

by yaseanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Short, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaseanne/pseuds/yaseanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little piece inspired by a meme. </p>
<p>
  <i>Today's letter is from Ron, and it's short. The letters swim before his eyes, angry scratches swirling into one big spot of ink.<br/>When his mind clears, the paper is black. Harry shrugs and turns to the fridge in search of breakfast.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday's Child

**Monday**

Harry wakes and it’s a fine morning. Every Monday morning is a fine morning. 

There's an owl waiting outside his window, insistently knocking on the pane. When he opens the window, meaningless pieces of conversation float up from the street. He offers a piece of melon to the owl and opens the envelope. Today's letter is from Ron, and it's short. The letters swim before his eyes, angry scratches swirling into one big spot of ink.

When his mind clears, the paper is black. Harry shrugs and turns to the fridge in search of breakfast.

 

**Tuesday**

After lunch, he has a sudden, vague urge to leave the house. Something makes him forego jacket and hat, even though it is barely spring, and instead he grabs the keys and hurries to the door.

He almost stumbles over the roll of parchment on his doorstep. Even before he unrolls it he knows the sender - there's only one person who could write letters whose length can be measured in feet. When he picks it up it crumbles in his hand and dissolves into fine dust, lightly coating his feet.

He looks down at his slippers and wonders what on earth had him go out without a sensible pair of shoes. It was a stupid idea, really. He turns and steps back inside.

 

**Wednesday**

The latest scandal in the Quidditch League is dominating the radio news broadcasts. He listens distractedly to shrill voices picking apart public lives as he dusts off his books.

Today he has to wait until mid-afternoon for the letter to arrive. It's delivered in person by a faceless apparition that tries to push its way into the house. He doesn't hear a sound, but he's sure the figure is talking. The smell reveals the sender: grass and flowers and broomstick wax. He waits patiently until the letter is thrust at him and the figure disappears around the corner of the street, idly wondering if he should follow. He manages to read "Dear Harry" before the letters at the very end vanish one by one, and he races to read as much as possible until his stare meets the blank page.

When the parchment drops from his fingers, he forgets every word.

 

**Thursday**

Thursday brings a thick envelope. The myriad of notes inside tumble out and chase each other in circles around his feet before zooming out the bedroom window, and he throws the envelope on the nightstand. It lands with a cluck.

Intrigued, he picks it back up and reaches inside. Something falls into his hand, a small figure the size of his thumb. Curious, he turns it over and over in his hands until it takes shape; a small black crow is sitting on his palm.

_"Potter"_ says the bird. _"I'm sure by now your little friends have all tried and failed to reach you. Once again it's up to me to save your worthless skin. This is your instrument of escape."_ Harry stares. _"Don't just stare at it. Go. Outside. Now."_

The door is unusually heavy and almost impossible to open, but once he's standing on his front step his head clears a little.

_"Turn left and follow the road. I'm waiting."_ says the crow.

Harry turns. His legs are a bit shaky as he follows the sidewalk, and the noise of cars and passer-bys is making his head ache. He looks down, at his slippered feet, and stumbles. When he looks back up, a tall, dark figure is standing at the end of the street.


End file.
